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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352307">the fine art of running for the hills</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskeletonpuns/pseuds/naughtyskeletonpuns'>naughtyskeletonpuns (badskeletonpuns)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>King Falls AM (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A Weird Book Made Them Do It, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic Consent, Fuck or Be Mildly Uncomfortable, M/M, Making Out, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen, because yknow ben arnold, because yknow sex pollen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:00:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,003</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352307</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskeletonpuns/pseuds/naughtyskeletonpuns</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sammy and Ben come across a weird book with some interesting poetry inside. Sexy interesting poetry. </p><p>It's sex pollen but instead of pollen, it's a paranormal book. Self-indulgent smut all the way down!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Arnold/Sammy Stevens, Past Ben Arnold/Emily Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the fine art of running for the hills</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>thanks to richard siken for the poetry (specifically You Are Jeff, stanza 12)! and even BIGGER thanks to beta of wonders, sage, and the rest of the samben discord crew for the encouragement :D :D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Remind me why we’re down here?” Sammy asks, for what has to be the third time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben shushes him loudly. The sound of their voices doesn’t echo at all, muted like the sound booths at the station. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who on earth could hear us?” Sammy continues. At Ben’s glare he softens his voice to a harsh whisper. “Seriously, I saw you lock the door! Speaking of, I’m not sure how I feel about the King Falls library having a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>secret locked basement?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>The hair rises on the back of his neck and he rubs at it without thinking. His hand is hot against his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The King Falls PTA was always really intense about banned books,” Ben says, like that answers any of Sammy’s questions and doesn’t raise about a hundred new ones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They creep through the stacks, weighted down with dusty books and misshapen objects swathed in dust and packing materials. It’s an old room, of that Sammy is certain. The shelves are heavy wood, not budging an inch when Ben trips over a fallen book and jams his shoulder into a corner. He swears loudly and then claps his hand over his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously, who are you worried about finding us?” Sammy doesn’t bother whispering this time. He’s gripping his flashlight like a lifeline, to the point that he’s worried he’ll dent the flimsy plastic casing. “Need I remind you of the locked door? And how I </span>
  <em>
    <span>saw </span>
  </em>
  <span>Emily, the de facto guardian of the building, hand you the key?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben shrugs. “I don’t know, I just have—a weird feeling, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You</span>
  </em>
  <span> have a weird feeling? You’re the one who dragged us down here!” Some part of Sammy’s brain is aware that his voice is making the exact sort of hysterical sounds he teases Ben for making on air. That part of his brain can’t seem to change anything about it, but hey. At least it’s aware. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, it’s not my fault half the lights don’t work and the creepy basement library is our only fucking lead on the void right now!” Ben hisses. He spins to face Sammy, gesturing wildly with both hands. The light from his flashlight dances over the books, illuminating flashes of gilt spines and heavy leather-bound first editions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy wants to shake some sense into Ben, wants to grab his shoulders and put him somewhere he can’t keep dragging the two of them into trouble, wants to—well. Wants to do a lot of things he probably shouldn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But did we have to come down here at ten o’clock at night?” Sammy is not whining. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alright, maybe he’s whining a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben deserves it for dragging him down here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit! Fuck, did you hear that?” Ben’s head whips back and forth, scanning up and down the aisle. He crowds into Sammy’s space, all elbows and knees. “You heard that sound, right? Like a whisper?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy refuses to give in to the impulse to put his arm around Ben, but he can’t bring himself to move any further away. “I heard absolutely nothing.” Which is true, he didn’t hear anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if he did hear something, though, he can’t say that he would have admitted it. One of them has to be the calm one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or at least to </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretend</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be the calm one. “What are we looking for again?” Sammy asks. The sooner they find it, the sooner they can get out of here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben shakes his arms out, flexing his fingers open and then curling them into fists. He has nice hands and soft, careful fingers—not that Sammy is noticing Ben’s fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um.” Ben is whispering again, but it doesn’t sound like he’s trying to be quiet. It’s more like the hoarse whisper is the only sound he can make. “A book, Emily said.” He peers out around the end of the stack, into the cavernous dark of a basement that stretches on for longer than Sammy would have thought possible. “Maybe…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great. So that narrows it down to every book in this library. Really helpful.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben doesn’t seem to notice the snark. He shuffles forward, out into the open space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I’ll just set fire to some of them, see if I can narrow our choices down.” The shelves pitch and roll around Sammy without warning, sending him stumbling out after Ben. “Or—or maybe I won’t,” he says, grabbing at Ben’s shoulder to steady himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s nothing in this library but the two of them. Nothing that could have pushed Sammy out into the open. Nothing drawing them towards the table in the center of the open space, draped in dusty canvas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ben,” he says. There’s no response. “Ben!” He yanks Ben back to face him. “Ben, are you okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” Ben blinks. His eyes are dark normally, but here in the flickering basement light they’re infinite. “I’m okay. I think we need that book, the one on the table.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as he says it, it’s there. If any book is worthy of being called a tome, it’s this one. Deep red, with a thick binding right out of Rich Mcguff’s shop. Dust has settled gently all around it, leaving the  book itself crisp and clean. It’s already open, and before Sammy can stop him Ben is pulling it towards them and reading it aloud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The motorbikes are neck and neck but where’s the checkered flag we all expected, waving in the distance, telling you you’re home again, home? He’s next to you, right next to you in fact, so close, or. . . he isn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben’s voice is low, smooth as polished glass and he’s reading the words like he’s known them his whole life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Imagine a room. Yes, imagine a room: two chairs facing the window but nobody moves. Don’t move. Keep staring straight into my eyes. It feels like you’re not moving, the way when, dancing, the room will suddenly fall away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tall shelves stretch even taller, rising to vaulted ceilings Sammy knows can’t exist in this cramped basement. He blinks, trying in vain to shake off what has to be a hallucination. He’s just tired. It’s dark. The spooky atmosphere is making him see things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben keeps reading. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re dancing: you’re neck and neck or cheek to cheek, he’s there or he isn’t, the open road. Imagine a room. Imagine you’re dancing. Imagine the room now falling away.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it comes down to him and Ben, it’s only </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>been the two of them. Sammy and Ben, Ben and Sammy. Their show, their </span>
  <em>
    <span>lives,</span>
  </em>
  <span> their everything and anything. The station and the town and the universe orbit one another and come into syzygy, like a child’s model of the solar system.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And everything is still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world comes back into focus, bookshelves rising up, taller than they were before—but that’s only because Sammy is sitting on the floor now. Ben sits in front of him. The book lies open on the floor beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you—” Sammy has to cough, clearing what feels like months of dust from his lungs. The room is brighter than before, the edges crisp and colors vivid. “Are you okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great question.” Ben glances at the book, Sammy, and the ceiling in quick succession, seemingly unable to focus on any one object. “I’m feeling—” He takes a second to breathe in and out slowly. “Feeling fine. Just—just fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy’s palms are sweating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool,” he says. “I’m… also fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben clears his throat. “I think, um, maybe that’s not the book we’re looking for?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s keep looking,” Sammy concurs. His throat is dry, scratchy, and he swallows to try and rid himself of the itch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> For a second, he wonders if Ben is watching the movement of his throat, tracking the tendons and muscle with his gaze as though he might want to reach out and trace it with his hands. Sammy puts the ridiculous idea firmly to the back of his mind and goes to get up. “Maybe we should leave? Come back tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know…” Ben rubs at his face. “This is weird, do you feel weird? I feel weird.” Sammy reaches out for him without thinking, and when he touches Ben’s knee it’s a balm to every ache he’s ever had. As soon as he makes contact, Ben goes silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m—” A tingling sensation like touching a staticky TV screen prickles over Sammy’s hands and arms. Sammy shifts in place. He’s uncomfortable no matter what he tries, tucking his legs under himself with agonizing slowness. “Yeah,” he agrees, rather than producing any coherent sentences. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A lot of effort is needed for Sammy to take his hand off Ben’s knee. The way Ben </span>
  <em>
    <span>looks</span>
  </em>
  <span> at him, pleading without words, doesn’t help. As soon as he stops touching Ben, heat rushes back in around Sammy and his ears pop. But thinking gets marginally easier, so that’s something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should talk about this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do we have to?” Ben asks. His voice is muffled by his shirt as he pulls it over his head, revealing a flush that spreads from the tops of his cheekbones down along his chest. “Because I was seriously considering running for the hills.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy’s struck dumb by Ben, chest still heaving great breaths in and out. He knew Ben had freckles scattered across his face and arms, but the presence of more freckles and moles flecking his torso is distracting in a way Sammy is not prepared to analyze at this moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sammy?” Ben’s face creases in concern, and there’s nothing Sammy wants more than to smooth the wrinkles out with his hands. Which, to be fair, is not a new desire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s just usually better at repressing it than this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been—” </span>
  <em>
    <span>in love with you for years. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sammy barely swallows the confession before it leaves his mouth. He bites his lip till it twinges, and doesn’t miss the way Ben’s eyes track the movement. “Feeling weird. Like you said.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben runs his fingers through his hair; the curls twisting out at odd angles. He tugs on it, wincing, but still keeping his grip. “God. Same. It’s like—you know that feeling, when you make a joke and you don’t realize that it’s gonna out you until you’ve already made it, and then it’s too late and no one’s laughing and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> you fucked up and they </span>
  <em>
    <span>know.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s that paranoia, like it’s already too late.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy can’t help letting out a disbelieving noise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck is that about?” Ben snaps. “What, can’t have more than one queer guy in the radio station?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—what? You know that’s not what I meant.” The logical, good friend thing to do here would be to capitulate. Let Ben talk himself out and they would both relax. Everything would stay the same, and Sammy would stop thinking about getting his mouth on Ben’s nipples. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the room is so hot Sammy can hardly breathe, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> if he winds Ben up enough Ben will start getting in his space. The cool relief of touching Ben earlier is a constant temptation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>you mean?” Ben’s voice is small, now. When Sammy looks over at him he’s pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging them close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy grabs at his own legs, the denim rough under his hands in a way he suddenly can’t stand. His shirt is tight across his chest and neck. Ben’s shirtlessness seems much more reasonable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t help matters that the little voice in his head that warns him away from any risky action is conspicuously absent, and in its absence he finds himself talking. “Benny, I didn’t mean… You’re allowed to be whoever you want, I only—” There’s a lump in his throat that wasn’t there a few seconds ago. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks, when Ben doesn’t volunteer more information. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben shrugs one shoulder. “Didn’t really know it until, um.” He grins, sheepish. “Emily actually asked me about it, and I realized, yeah. Bi. It was like, a few months ago? After we broke up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything in Sammy wants to reach out to Ben, to hold him close until he stops looking so… worldweary. The laws of the universe shouldn’t allow him to look so tired. There had to be a statute somewhere about how Benjamin Arnold was a man on fire, energetic and passionate to a fault, fierce and loyal and impossible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy’s eyes sting and he blinks something that might be tears and might be sweat. The room has, if anything, gotten even hotter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know it’s okay, right?” Sammy searches for the right thing to say, or at least the thing that he would have wanted to hear as a scared kid just figuring out that he felt the same way about Leonardo DiCaprio as most of the guys his age felt about Kate Winslet. He can’t quite hit on the right combination of words to make the tightness in his chest relax, and he can’t concentrate enough to make his thoughts make sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shelves loom over the two of them, taking up far more space than they deserve. That damn book is still open on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy wants to close it, but he can’t stand the thought of touching the thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben touches the back of his hand and Sammy flinches back in surprise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, sorry!” Ben babbles. “I was just saying—I know, I know it’s okay.” His face softens, and he smiles at Sammy for real. “You don’t have to worry about me on that, at least.” Before Ben can move away, Sammy flips his palm over to take his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Sammy manages to say. Their eyes meet and it’s almost tender until Ben’s hand spasms in Sammy’s grip and they shudder in unison. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like someone walked over our graves,” Ben mutters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like static electricity,” Sammy feels the need to point out. “I won’t argue that this room is strange, but there’s got to be a reasonable explanation.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm,” Ben says, uncharacteristically noncommittal to the cause of paranormal activity. He looks—flushed, almost fevered. His eyes are bright, mouth hanging open ever so slightly. There’s a shine to his lower lip that Sammy wants to taste. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” he asks, in lieu of doing something really fucking stupid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably fine,” Ben shrugs. “Just, you know, twitchy.” His voice is almost trembling, but Sammy can’t bring himself to call him on it. Maybe he’s worried that his own voice would be equally unstable. If he was, that would be no one’s business. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy cares about Ben as a friend. Fine, fine, as a more-than-friend. But right now, in this instance, he’s being friendly. Caring. He’s keeping an eye on Ben to make sure he’s actually fine, not because the play of muscle across bone as he moves is mesmerizing or anything like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Twitchy?” Sammy works up the ability to ask. “That sounds… concerning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watches as Ben takes a few deep breaths, pressing one hand over his chest as though he can’t get enough air. “Ben?” he queries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The floodgates open. “Oh my god I think I’m dying! Has anyone ever died of getting a boner from a weird book? Or, shit, I mean, just reading a weird book? It’s so hot in here. I can’t—I’m gonna pass out, please touch me, I’m so sorry, shit! I know you don’t believe in shit like this, but—god, I thought I wanted you a lot before this but this is—</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I can’t take it!” Ben talks until he runs out of breath and when it’s over he’s left panting and gasping for air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy can’t breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stares at Ben, watches his chest rise and fall. Ben is breathing just fine. Surely he wouldn’t mind if Sammy just… borrowed some of his air. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shotgunning oxygen, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks, perhaps a touch hysterically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he’s kissing Ben, and more than that, Ben is kissing him back. They’re grasping at each other, pulling themselves to pieces and keeping themselves together all at once. </span>
</p><p><em><span>“Fuck, </span></em><span>Ben.</span> <span>Are you sure you—” Sammy gets out in between kisses. Further questions burn through him like a wildfire, but he can’t imagine stopping long enough to ask any of them. </span></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You too? For how long? Why on earth would you want </span>
  </em>
  <span>me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>of all people?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ben bites down on Sammy’s lip and Sammy can’t think of anything except how to make Ben keep doing that, possibly forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy whines a little involuntarily when Ben disconnects, but it’s just long enough for Ben to say, “If you’re about to ask me if I’m sure I want this, I’m going to strangle you. How many times do I have to say yes?” He dives back in with trademark enthusiasm, leaning into Sammy until he’s practically in his lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy breaks their kiss to press his forehead to Ben’s. “I just—one more time. I want to hear you say it.” This close, he can make out every freckle starring Ben’s cheeks and nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promise, Sammy, I promise. I don’t—I don’t give a shit about whatever weird thing is happening. I just want you.” Ben babbles into Sammy’s face, too loud for their close distance. His voice drowns out all other thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy can’t even articulate how badly he wants this, </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted it for ages. Normally this would mean convincing himself he didn’t deserve this would be easy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s having trouble coming up with any reason to stop Ben from nipping along his jaw and neck. His hands are on Ben’s shoulders and back—there’s so much skin already on display, and the more they’re touching the better it feels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door is locked and the library above them is long since closed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben’s here, in his arms, and he’s made it so clear he wants this too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The book, the one that started this all, it’s—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben devotes his attention to a soft bit of skin just below Sammy’s jawbone, biting and sucking until Sammy knows there’s going to be a bruise there tomorrow. It’s positioned far too high for any t-shirt to hide, and a thrill goes through Sammy at the thought of walking out of here with it on display. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck the book.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy hoists Ben all the way into his lap, the abrupt motion disrupting Ben’s efforts to maul Sammy. Ben’s solid and heavy, but he moves with Sammy and it’s easy to settle into each other like two pieces of a puzzle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben tugs at the hem of Sammy’s shirt until he gets the message and strips out of it. They’re chest to chest now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I?” Sammy murmurs, palming over Ben’s jeans. Ben whines and cants his hips forward in response, grinding against Sammy’s stomach and cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy unzips Ben’s jeans and tugs his pants and underwear down just far enough to free his dick. He licks his hand—maybe more showily than necessary, but Ben is watching him do it with eager eyes and the attention is addicting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben fits into the curve of Sammy’s hand like he was meant for it. The pink head of his cock pushes through Sammy’s fist with every stroke, leaving messy smears of precum all over Sammy’s hand and wrist. Ben is fucking gorgeous like this, and Sammy tells him so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He twists and whines on top of Sammy, like he can’t decide if he wants to arch into the praise or shy away from it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you like it when I tell you that?” Sammy doesn’t mean to talk dirty, but he can’t seem to stop, either. “Because it’s true. I could come just watching you fuck my hand like this, all flushed and wet. You’re so desperate and we’ve hardly started.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben keens, wild and loud. “Sammy!” He pushes into Sammy’s space like he’s trying to climb into his ribcage, getting so close that Sammy hardly has room to keep jerking him off. Ben doesn’t seem to care, frantically thrusting, chasing his orgasm till he cries out and slumps over in Sammy’s arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy hasn’t gone from getting hard to about to come this fast in possibly ever, but now he’s on the edge already. Ben is shifting on top of him, sticking his hand down Sammy’s pants without even undoing them. It’s terrible and cramped and not anywhere near what Sammy usually needs, but before he even realizes it he’s coming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t offer half as much relief as he thought it would. Ben’s hand hesitates on his cock, but Sammy isn’t overstimulated like he normally would be by this point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you come?” Ben asks, shifting away from Sammy. He wriggles all the way out of his pants, He’s still hard, Sammy notes, and dripping from the first time he came. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sammy wants to eat him alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think?” Sammy takes the opportunity to divest himself of his own clothing, and then there they are. Two guys, naked in the library basement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy can’t bring himself to regret anything. He’s hard again—maybe never went soft at all—and that definitely isn’t normal. With the way Ben’s eyeing him, though, he feels like now is not the time to worry about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is. Also not normal. Lord knows Sammy’s found things far less weird to be far more worrying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we cursed? Is this a sex curse?” Ben is jerking himself off, seemingly unconsciously. The long, slow strokes are maddening just to look at. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ben.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sammy is jerked (hah) out of his thoughts to look at Ben, aghast. “I cannot fucking believed you just said the words ‘sex curse’ out loud with your mouth.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying, dude!” He rolls his hips up into his hand and swears. “Fuck! All I’m saying is that if fucking your cohost in a random basement room after reading a weird, horny book and then getting hard twice in like, ten minutes, is normal for you, then you have been not telling me about a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> of shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy should probably think about what Ben is saying and consider if he has to readjust his worldview on instances of the paranormal. Instead, he asks “Do you think you’re gonna come again if you keep doing that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am—” Ben stops talking to breathe out slowly, rubbing his thumb over his slit where he’s still leaking an unreasonable amount of precum. “—absolutely going to try.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets his head loll back, baring the long curve of his neck. It’s bereft of the hickeys Sammy is certain litter his own neck, and not leaving any on Ben suddenly feels like a massive oversight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy has to offer. “Would you like help trying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When they’re both still hard another set of orgasms later, Sammy regains enough sensibility to be genuinely worried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, what the fuck is happening.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben hums a noncommittal response. He’s flopped on top of Sammy. It’s a little too warm and they’re both pretty messy at this point, and Sammy knows if they don’t clean up or separate in a few minutes they’re going to start sticking to each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy’s not desperate or raring to go again, not yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he can feel it, like an itch in the back of his mind and a heat in his gut. It’s nowhere near gone, and given the fact that he’s already come twice, that’s—concerning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I might… have an idea,” Ben says. He rolls off Sammy, but doesn’t leave his side. “But I’m not sure how feasible it is?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Need I remind you of where we are and what has happened.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think, maybe, when you take into account the book, and, you know, the traditionality of curses, it’s possible that—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ben. Benny. Please, for the sake of both of our dicks, get to the point.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we need to fuck.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy gives Ben a look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I know! I meant like—” Ben makes a crude gesture with his hands. “You know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> fuck.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“… Okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Okay’?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy shrugs, helpless in the face Ben saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> like that. He is fairly certain he’s going to be hearing that on repeat in his wet dreams for the rest of his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe that’s just the cursed sex book of it all starting to get to him again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben runs a messy hand through his hair, leaving curls sticking up in wild directions. “Should we, um? I haven’t really—with a guy before.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy shakes himself out of his stupor. “Yeah, yeah. We should prep before we get too distracted. I’m—I know what I like. If you wanted to be, you know, the one doing the… fucking.” Which is probably the worst series of words that Sammy has ever said, but at least it isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—yeah—I mean—” Ben turns bright red and trips over himself to talk. “Sounds good yep!” He gets up on his knees at Sammy’s side, hands hovering over Sammy. Even though they’ve already touched each other so much tonight, he hesitates. “Can I, um? Help?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know anything about prepping an ass,” Sammy asks flatly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not expecting Ben to mumble an affirmative. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes every last ounce of Sammy’s self control not to beg Ben to elaborate. “Yeah?” he gets out after a long, strangled second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben takes a deep breath. “I can’t—I can’t think straight right now. Emily and I did some stuff, I—I know what I like too. Right now what I like, what I want, I mean, is to help you get ready, if that’s okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy gives in. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Please.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He guides Ben to settle in between his knees, Sammy’s legs wrapped loosely around Ben’s waist. This moment—putting himself on display like this, legs spread to reveal everything—is never going to stop making Sammy nervous. Ben is usually very vocal about what he likes, and Sammy doesn’t know how to ask for that here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy wants it, though, wants Ben to tell him how good he looks and feels, how well he’s doing. Wants Ben to keep telling him that forever. But just because Ben is attracted to him doesn’t mean Ben wants anything deeper than a hookup, especially one that started in this deeply weird way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s a problem to think about after they’ve gotten rid of whatever this is (or, more accurately, that’s a problem to </span>
  <em>
    <span>ignore</span>
  </em>
  <span> after this), so Sammy props himself up on his elbows to direct Ben as best he can. “Alright, you’re pretty wet, so this should go okay with just spi—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben puts his fingers in his mouth, hollowing his lips around them obscenely, and all rational thoughts in Sammy’s head grind to a halt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were saying?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up and finger me,” Sammy snaps, because if he doesn’t say something he’s going to fall apart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not like he’s particularly together right now anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprisingly, Ben listens to at least the second part of Sammy’s request, opening Sammy up with careful skill Sammy wouldn’t have guessed that he had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He decidedly does not shut up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy can’t say he minds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never done this from this angle before, </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you look so good, tell me if I’m doing something wrong, Sammy. You’re taking my fingers so well, let me know when you’re ready, kay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben keeps up a steady stream of commentary and it’s everything Sammy’s ever wanted. He comes dry partway through, nothing but Ben’s fingers inside him and Ben’s voice surrounding him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hears himself begging. “Benny, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m ready, I’ve been ready, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck me</span>
  </em>
  <span> already.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, I’ve got you, baby, don’t worry.” Ben pushes in slowly, the heat of him burning Sammy up inch by inch. Everything is friction and fire, and once more the universe shrinks till there is no one but Sammy and Ben. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben leans down over him, pressing their foreheads together. “Never knew it could be so good, you’re so lovely, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, Sammy, oh.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He thrusts deep and shouts Sammy’s name again, coming one final time. Even as he softens, he doesn’t pull out. Instead he kisses Sammy and keeps talking to him, almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>crooning.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “You gonna come for me, baby? We’re almost done, you’re doing so well. One more time? For me?” He thumbs over the head of Sammy’s cock and that’s it, that’s all Sammy can take. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He comes, whining loud in a way he would never let himself be if he had any control over his voice right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as Sammy finishes shaking through the aftershocks Ben slumps over him, collapsing like a jenga tower. Sammy relaxes too, and what feels like years of tension leech out of him lying there on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M’so tired,” Ben says, muffled by the way he’s sticking his face into Sammy’s neck. “Gonna just take a quick nap.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bad manners,” Sammy complains, dredging up the energy to flick Ben. “I should make you get up for that. Get me some paper towels and water or something. God knows you made enough of the mess here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or,” Ben points out, “We could stay here, power nap for like fifteen minutes, and then still have plenty of time to get dressed and sneak out of here before the library opens tomorrow morning.” He starts combing his fingers through Sammy’s hair while he talks, which is blatantly cheating, but Sammy doesn’t feel like calling him out for it right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You make some excellent points,” he admits. “Very few of them and very rarely, but it does happen.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shush,” Ben says. He reaches up to feel around Sammy’s face until he can press a finger to Sammy’s lips. “Nap now. Banter later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright,” Sammy acquiesces. Sure, they’ll be gross and sticky sooner rather than later, but for now… For now all he really wants is to lie here with Ben for a few moments longer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And maybe just this once he can get exactly what he wants. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>let me know if you liked it!!! all comments feed the samben monster that resides in my basement and encourage it to produce More Samben Content</p></blockquote></div></div>
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